


Operation Mills

by swansaloft (orphan_account)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cooking Lessons, Drama, F/F, Humor, Magic Lessons, Romance, Secret Operations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2679749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/swansaloft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Think of it this way: I’m giving you permission to be all bossy and superior, and you’ll have plenty of opportunities to act like I’m an idiot, which I know you love. I mean, don’t get carried away or anything. I can still bring out the right hook if I need to.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Regina lets out a surprised yet unfairly dignified snort. “I hardly think that will be necessary.”</i>
</p><p>Henry and Emma team up to let Regina know she isn't alone. There's lasagna. And also kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation Mills

**Author's Note:**

> **Actually Relevant Notes** : Canon up until 4x05 but splits off from there, though there is a tiny bit of borrowing from episodes after that. I also have Henry call Emma “Ma” and Regina “Mom,” because I’ve read that in several fics, and it quickly became unbreakable head!canon for me.
> 
>  **Rambly Additional Notes** : I wanted to write some Swan Queen fic, but I was hesitant. It had been a long time since I had written fic of any kind, and I had so many half-formed ideas running through my head that I just couldn’t nail anything down. As an ice-breaker of sorts, I set my iTunes library to shuffle and vowed to use the next song as inspiration. It turned out to be “Your Hallelujah” by Leona Lewis (which is, incidentally, absolutely beautiful and highly recommended). I immediately knew where I wanted to go with it, but it got away from me by an extra 5,000 words or so. It basically overtook all my free time for three days straight, and it was wonderful.

What Regina says is, “I don’t _want_ to kill you.” Emma translates this as loosely being Regina-speak for “Sorry about all the bitchy comments, and even if you do get on my nerves sometimes, I do consider you my friend. Thanks for being here for me; I really need someone in my court right now. And also, you’re pretty.”

 

Or something to that effect, anyway.

 

This is when she and Henry devise a plan.

 

“What should we call– _hey_ , how did you do that?” Emma asks, leaning forward to take in the giant explosion on the screen as Henry continues to frantically maneuver his controller.

 

“Yeah, like I’m telling you,” he spares her a short sideways glance. “You’ll just use it against me next time we do versus mode.”

 

“Hey, would I do that to you, kid?”

 

“Of course you would. Your survival instincts totally outweigh your maternal ones.”

 

“Um, ouch. I’ll remember that next time you ask me to make you those chocolate chip cinnamon cookies.”

 

“Ma. Aren’t you forgetting Mary Margaret’s keep-out-of-my-kitchen-if-your-name-is-Emma rule?”

 

“Yeesh. You make the fire alarm go off _one time_ , and they never let you live it down.” She lets out a dramatic sigh, falling back against the cushions, and he grins and nudges her shoulder.

 

“So, you were saying?” he prods.

 

“About?”

 

“About the plan to cheer up Mom.”

 

“Right! I just figured if it was going to be all official and stuff, it should have a title.”

 

“As if I would be part of a nameless operation. That sort of disorganization, and it would be doomed from the start.” Emma smiles at how much he sounds like Regina.

 

“That’s where you come in, kid. All I could think of is, I don’t know, Operation...Grinch?”

 

“So you want to make Mom’s heart so big it would kill her?”

 

“Haha,” she deadpans. “I just meant she doesn’t have to hide out alone in a cave. What were you thinking, oh Great One?”

 

“Operation Mills,” he says, and she would think he’s joking except for the absolute conviction of his tone.

 

“That’s it? Not, like, Operation Platypus or Zebra or something?”

 

“I’m not ten anymore, Ma. Plus, this isn’t a secret mission, so it doesn’t need to be in code, and Operation Mills sounds way more official than Operation Regina. It’s the perfect name. It’s all about supporting Mom, showing her that we’re here for her and love her for exactly who she is, right?”

 

“Oh,” she says, and she absolutely isn’t getting choked up or anything. She clears her throat and blinks a couple times before she sits up again, leaning over to grab the second controller. “That’s perfect. I love it. Now, we can devise the specifics after you show me how you did that explode-y thing, or you can forget about that new Xbox I promised you for Christmas.”

 

\--

 

They decide that the first course of action is to keep Regina from being alone so often. Emma totally thinks this supports her Grinch theory, but Henry’s veto is firm.

 

Things have settled down since their recent defeat of the Snow Queen, at least as much as they ever do in Storybrooke. Emma’s been keeping an extra eye on Gold, because she’s just got that _feeling_ like something’s not exactly right, but nothing has happened yet, so she’s trying to be protective without being paranoid. She keeps busy settling disputes between the dwarves and pretending not to hide from Hook, because things have been sort of awkward since their breakup.

 

She’s scheduled to do security work at the town archery tournament this weekend, which should be interesting. Most people would probably back Robin Hood, but Emma still has some resentment to work out there. Plus, she’s seen Granny when she’s determined, and damn, the woman is scary. Emma wouldn’t want to get between her and her goal. A small part of her wouldn’t mind if Robin got hit in the crossfire, though. Just a little bit. A tiny arm wound. Marian would be there, all unthawed and pretty and ready to kiss it better. Logically, she knows it isn’t really his fault that he hurt Regina, and he actually acted in a completely honorable fashion, refusing to cheat on or leave his wife. But still. Just a tiny scratch. That’s all she wants.

 

Shaking off her bloodthirsty thoughts, Emma takes her first step of Operation Mills, opening the door to the mayor’s office (because while familiarity may breed contempt, it also builds a certain brand of trust, and _someone_ needs to be there to deal with paperwork and be passionate about the correct ratio of trees to parking lot size, and Mary Margaret realized quickly that wasn’t her).

 

“Sheriff Swan,” Regina stands to greet her, ever formal when acting in the mayoral capacity, but it’s always “Sheriff” now, and if Emma misses her former moniker and sometimes entertains private scenarios involving Regina saying “Miss Swan” in that sultry voice of hers, well, that’s her business. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I wanted to know if you could do me a favor.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Well, you know. I’m not the best cook in the world. I mean, I make a mean BLT and can whip up a box of mac ‘n’ cheese with the best of ‘em. But, while I was fine when it was just me, my kitchen skills leave a lot to be desired. And the whole savior thing doesn’t exactly lend itself to having a ton of time practice. Plus, there’s barely even room to breathe in the apartment right now, and Mary Margaret doesn’t really like me in her kitchen because of this one time where I broke her toaster-”

 

“I believe there was also a recent incident involving cookies, correct?” The mayor interrupts, raising her eyebrows.

 

Emma rolls her eyes because _seriously_? “Yeah, whatever. The point is that I’d like to get better. And as we discussed recently, we’re friends,” she ignores Regina’s expression and rushes on, “and I thought you could help me out. Maybe teach me a few of Henry’s favorite recipes and stuff.”

 

“Why me and not Mary Margaret? Seems like a perfect mommy-daughter bonding experience.”

 

“For one thing, she’s almost never without the baby, and while he’s cute and all, sometimes the screaming can get to you, you know? The other day, I pretended I needed tampons just so I could go to the store and get away for ten minutes.”

 

“Ah, yes. Henry went through a phase like that. Not the most peaceful time in my life.”

 

“Anyway. I spend all kinds of time with Mary Margaret. But I feel like we never do much together. And even if you’re going to act like I’m making you suck a lemon every time I say it, I consider you my friend. I’d like to spend more time together. With a common goal, not involving each other’s mutual destruction. We could even throw some magic in there. I know you’re upset that I’m ‘squandering my talent’ or whatever. Plus, think of it this way: I’m giving you permission to be all bossy and superior, and you’ll have plenty of opportunities to act like I’m an idiot, which I know you love.”

 

Regina raises an eyebrow at that, but her lips pinch at the edges like she’s holding back a smile.

 

“I mean, don’t get carried away or anything,” Emma continues. “I can still bring out the right hook if I need to.”

 

Regina lets out a surprised yet unfairly dignified snort. “I hardly think that will be necessary.”

 

“So you’re agreeing.”

 

“I believe I could fit it into my schedule. What would you say to tomorrow? Six sharp?”

 

“I don’t work the night shift until Wednesday, so tomorrow night would be perfect. Should I bring anything?”

 

“We’ll start with something relatively simple. Lasagna, I think. It’s one of Henry’s favorites. I believe I have all the ingredients on hand, so you needn’t bring anything.”

 

“I’ve made lasagna before. One of my foster parents used to make it. You just need cottage cheese, a jar of pasta sauce, and those crinkly noodles.” It takes all her effort to keep a straight face as Regina blinks at her, horrified.

 

“If you wish to cook like a peasant, dear, I am sure plenty of people in this town would be happy to accommodate you. If you’d like to actually make something edible, I’ll show you tomorrow. Do bring your own apron, though. I have a feeling this may be somewhat outside your comfort zone.” There it is, there’s that patronizing look, but it’s soft and not barbed at all and actually somewhere in the bizarre Emma-And-Regina-Are-Friends Realm.

 

Emma grins at her before she spins around and strides out the door, already whipping out her phone to text Henry. **Stage one of Operation Mills is a go.**

 

\--

 

Regina wasn’t wrong about the apron. Emma pulls up to the house on Mifflin at 5:58 and waits until the top of the hour exactly before she knocks. Regina looks put-together as always, and if her smile is a little lackluster, it’s still genuine, and that’s the important thing. Or maybe she’s just excited because she knows what’s going to go down the next hour, and it’s freaking _messy_. Emma is pretty sure having a streak of tomato sauce in her hair isn’t exactly the trend in the latest Cosmo.

 

Of course Regina’s method of making lasagna involves an armload of fresh vegetables and hand-ground fennel and a block of cheese she actually has to grate herself. And really, she was kidding before, with the crinkly noodles comment, but holy crap, who actually puts this much effort into lasagna?

 

In the end, though, she has to admit, it’s worth it. It’s not up to the level of Regina’s when she makes it, but it’s not half bad at all. In fact, it’s actually delicious, even more so to Emma because pride is seriously like a secret ingredient, and she’s pretty dang proud to have this great of a result on the first try.

 

She beams like she feels like a million dollars – because who is she kidding, she totally does – and she thanks Regina half a dozen times while she eats her first helping.

 

“Seriously, ‘Gina,” she says around a mouthful. “Thanks. This’s incredible.”

 

“Do you need a lesson in manners, as well?” Regina looks pointedly at her mouth, so Emma swallows and then slurps noisily at her wine just to be contrary, holding the brunette’s gaze as she narrows her eyes. Emma feels the little buzz that always accompanies these staring contests of theirs and finally breaks off the eye contact as she sets her glass back down.

 

“You mentioned magic in your proposal.” All hail Regina, queen of the non-sequitur.

 

“I did.”

 

“Why? Are you wanting to learn anything in particular?”

 

“Well, I figure I have these powers no matter what, right? So I may as well learn to use them. I mean, I don’t want to, erm, go crazy with it or whatever,” she rushes through, trying to look apologetic and acknowledging without being accusing.

 

“And you think I’m the best person for that?”

 

“Well, I wanted Gold, but he’s too busy with his extended honeymoon,” she deadpans, but Regina’s answering smile has a shadow hanging over it, like she knows that if there were a better option, Emma would choose elsewhere.

 

So Emma opts for honesty. She takes the last bite of her lasagna, chews it while she thinks over her words, sets down her fork. Then she looks across at Regina, waiting until the brunette meets her gaze. “Do you remember when Elsa first came to town? There was that big snow monster thing, and then she accidentally trapped me in that ice room?”

 

Regina nods. “Are you saying you’d rather Elsa teach you magic?”

 

“What? Regina, _no.”_

“Because I’d advise against that,” Regina continues like she hasn’t heard Emma. “Anyone who still has that little handle on how to yield her magic is still in need of some training, herself. Besides, I thought she and Anna were working on a way to get back to Arendelle.”

 

 “Okay, well if you would _listen to me_ , you’d know that wasn’t even what I was going to say. My point is, we talked some in there. She talked about Anna and how she helps her control the magic. She asked if there was anyone who did that for me. I told her you, Regina. It’s always been you. I feel better using my magic around you. I feel like it comes easier, like I have better control over it when I do use it.”

 

Regina looks taken aback at that, albeit pleased. “Really? Why?”

 

“I wasn’t really sure at first? I think it’s because I trust you. I know that you know me, and you know magic. And yes, you may have made some less than stellar choices with it before. But you learned from that, you grew. Plus, you’re a sort of buffer, because I know you can correct anything I do wrong. But it’s not just that. I feel safer. Stronger. It’s like I feel...comfortable, but challenged at the same time, you know?”

 

That’s really all she can do for now, because she was aiming for honesty, not soul-baring, and she’s got some emotions tangled around Regina that she hasn’t quite sorted through herself.

 

“Oh. Well. If you’re still amenable to the idea, then we can get started.” At Emma’s nod of confirmation, Regina stands, reaching forward to clear the dishes from the table, and Emma mirrors her, collecting her dishes and rinsing them before handing them over for Regina to place in the dishwasher. She can just see Regina being the type to have a conniption fit because Emma put her plate on the left side of the rack instead of the right.

 

After they finish, Regina moves to a drawer and picks up a spoon before she turns back around. “To the living room,” and it’s a command rather than a question. Emma does a mock solute to her back, and _whoops_ , there’s a mirror in the entryway, so Regina sees but does nothing more than roll her eyes.

 

They get right to it once they reach the living room. “We’re going to work on controlling the movement of objects tonight. Basic, but useful. Can be used for both offensive and defensive purposes.”

 

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

“Wielding magic is one thing. Focusing it, fine tuning it to do precisely what you want and nothing more, well, that is another beast entirely.” Regina explains some of the basics of the hows and whys, and Emma listens intently.

 

“Now, make this spoon – and only this spoon – float.”

 

“Okay.” Emma turns her gaze to the piece of cutlery sitting on the mahogany coffee table, focusing intently. “Wingardium leviosa,” she says with a flourish of her hand, and the spoon floats an inch above the table before clattering back down.

 

“Really, Swan?” Regina sounds more resigned than surprised, and it’s likely that she knows Emma better than she wants to acknowledge.

 

“Sorry. I just had to do it once.” So she really tries this time, and she has better results. They work for another hour, and it’s exhausting. It’s amazing how different wielding magic is when the situation isn’t life-or-death and fueled by the buckets of adrenaline pumping through her system. The magic on its own has a distinct thrum, and she can sense it, work with it, and it’s slippery and fickle – Regina says that’s not the magic, that’s her, like trying to ride a bike for the first time without training wheels and wobbling before you perfect how to sit, how to hold yourself, and then it clicks and you have it – but she still wishes it were always as easy as it seems to be when she has a _reason_ to use it. Or when she’s teaming up with Regina. Regina doesn’t use her magic to help Emma even once, only giving her instructions and pointers when she needs them.

 

Emma works on moving the spoon in different ways, then progresses to stopping it when Regina throws it at her. That’s more difficult, and Regina looks suspiciously close to laughter when the spoon hits Emma square between the eyes.

 

“And on that note,” Emma says, bending down to retrieve the spoon, “I think I’ll call it a night. Are we on for Saturday?”

 

“Absolutely. We wouldn’t want our precious savior in danger of being taken down by a piece of flying cutlery.”

 

“Gee, what a moving outpouring of concern.” Emma pulls on her red leather jacket as Regina follows her to the front door.

 

“Thanks again for your help, Regina.”

 

“I’m well aware of your gratitude at this point, dear. Do you suppose you could refrain from any further comments on it? I’m going to start thinking your body has been overtaken by someone with proper manners.”

 

“You’re hilarious. ‘Night, Regina.”

 

“Good night, Emma.”

 

\--

 

Emma’s phone chirps happily at her, pulling her away from yet another enthralling report she has to fill out. She glances down to see a new text from Henry.

 

\- **Report on Operation Mills. The package came today! It’s sitting in front of the door. She should get it when she gets home. :)**

 

She types a quick response back.

 

\- **Perfect! Can you try to get a pic when she opens it so I can see her face?**

 

Emma pauses, backspacing until it just says “Perfect!” and then sends it off. As much as she’d like a picture, that’s kind of a weird thing to ask your son to do, and she doesn’t want to make things awkward for Henry.

 

She knows Regina will be excited about getting a bottle of her favorite perfume. It also happens to be ridiculously expensive, but there’s nothing like a favorite scent or article of clothing to boost your confidence. And to be totally honest, it’s a little bit of a gift for Emma, too, because she loves the smell of it. Which isn’t to say she’s a total creeper who goes around smelling the mayor. Somehow they always seem to wind up in each other’s personal space, whether it’s from a confrontation or a cooking session or a magic lesson. And it’s nice.

 

Emma takes a deep breath and almost imagines she can smell it now, the scent subtle but heady over the usual stale-coffee-and-old-carpet aroma of the sheriff’s station. She glances over her shoulder, hopeful. But no, it’s just her imagination, and she shrugs away her disappointment, bending over her paperwork again.

 

\--

 

The lessons started as a plan to cheer up Regina, but Emma finds herself looking forward to them far more than she anticipated. This is the fourth one, exactly ten days after the first session. Tonight they’re conquering risotto, which as far as Emma can tell, basically entails lots and lots of stirring.

 

Her apron hangs on the tiny hook next to Regina’s, and Emma’s brain shorts out when she thinks about why that simple fact makes her a little giddy. She knows she’s here for more than Operation Mills, knows she likes having her friend back. Emma even knows she might want to be more than friends with the other woman. She has been on terms with that for a while. But this...this _domestic_ longing, the idea that she might want it all, want to come home to Regina and share a kitchen and steal Regina’s slippers when her toes get cold, that’s too much. Emma feels the apron slip through her fingers and sees it land in a heap in front of her, stares at it for a second before she bends down to retrieve it. When she goes to tie the knot, her fingertips feel a little numb.

 

Regina frowns at her questioningly.

 

“Sorry. Butterfingers.”

 

“Indeed. Remind me not to use the fine china tonight.”

 

Emma just closes her eyes for a couple seconds and breathes, wills the weird thoughts away. She opens them again, and she just sees her – admittedly attractive, that much isn’t going to change – friend Regina, who is hurting over her recent breakup. They continue working, discussing safe topics like the weather and Henry and upcoming town events. When dinner is over and they’ve moved into the living room, Regina begins introducing the magical topic of the night.

 

Emma finds herself growing frustrated because she wants to help Regina. Their sessions have been great. Sometimes a little awkward or tense, but mostly helpful and informative and even fun. What they haven’t been is a chance for Regina to truly open up to her, or at least not one she has taken. Emma gets that, she does. She isn’t exactly the world’s most forthcoming with her emotions either, but if Regina is ever going to move past Robin, she has to talk about it. She has skirted around the topic the couple times Emma has hinted at it, so what the hell? Time for the bull in the china shop approach. It’s practically Emma’s specialty after all.

 

“Hey, Regina.” Maybe it isn’t the best idea to start off by interrupting Regina, annoying her from the start. Emma flashes an apologetic smile to soften the blow before she continues.

 

“I totally understand if you don’t, so feel free to say no, but–” she pauses, takes a deep breath before she lets the next words out in a rush. “Do you want to talk about Robin Hood?”

 

Regina’s posture is ramrod straight, her teeth straighter as she shoots Emma the world’s fakest smile, the one Emma used to do crazy things to rile her out of when she first came to town. “What’s there to talk about? It’s in the past. And I have been told that dwelling on the past can lead one to, say, unhealthy obsessions.”

 

“Um, yeah. But I’m not talking about sticking pins in a voodoo doll. I just meant talk. It can be therapeutic. Let it all out. Lance the wound so it can start to heal and all that.”

 

“Well, I don’t wish to discuss it. So may I continue with the lesson?”

 

Emma sighs. “Go ahead. Whatever.”

 

“Thank you. So, as I was saying...” Regina continues speaking, but it fades into the background for Emma as she studies the other woman. She did a pretty good job with the make-up this morning, but Emma is paid to notice things, and the haggard shadows under Regina’s eyes are evidence of sleepless nights.

 

She just wants to _help_ , damn it. If Emma hates any feeling in the world, it’s being helpless, but she just doesn’t know how to get under those barricades Regina has erected.

 

She tunes back into Regina’s speech about healing magic. They practice for a while, mostly discussing it, but Regina also rips an old linen sheet in half and expects Emma to mend it. Not exactly the same as knitting together flesh and bone, but it’s the same concept, she explains.

 

“If only it were that easy,” Emma comments, and she thinks of broken hearts rather than broken bones. Regina emits a short hum of agreement as she takes a seat beside Emma on the couch.

 

“Was your breakup with the pirate so painful?” Emma tries not to look surprised at the older woman’s broaching of a topic that has been taboo so far. She must fail, though, because Regina quirks a brow at her.

 

“What? You can pry into my personal life, but I’m not allowed to inquire about yours?”

 

Oh. “It’s not the same as, well, you know. But if you really want to hear this?” Regina doesn’t make any indication for Emma to continue, but she doesn’t tell her to shut up either, so Emma takes that as a good sign. “It’s more awkward than anything. Since I was the one to break up with him and all. I’m not, I mean...I liked him, you know? He was there and so nice and helpful, and I know you make all these comments, Regina, but you had to have noticed how hot he is.” Regina just frowns at her, letting out an indignant huff.

 

“Speak for yourself, Swan.”

 

“Liar. But that’s not enough, you know? I got carried away in the moment, and it wasn’t what I wanted when I really had a chance to think about it. I tried to go along with it for a while, but it wasn’t honest. My heart wasn’t there. And I had to let him know that before it had gone on too long. I hated hurting him, but I couldn’t force it. It wasn’t fair to either of us. It just sucks.”

 

Regina nods, taking a sip of her cider. She sets the glass down on a nearby coaster, puts her hands on her thighs and straightens the nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt, keeps staring at her knees as she speaks.

 

“You asked about my relationship. Villains don’t get happy endings. I’m a villain. End of story.”

 

“Newsflash, Regina. Obviously you’ve done bad things in the past, but have you seen yourself recently? You defeated Zelena, you helped us defeat the Snow Queen. You even helped get Anna back, and no one’s life was in danger at that point. You did that out of the goodness of your heart.”

 

“Or to get you to stop pestering me about it.”

 

“I asked you, like, twice. If you were truly just a villain, it would’ve taken a lot more than that. A ritual sacrifice or a crap ton of blackmail at least.” She flashes an awkward smile. “But you did it just because you could.”

 

“If you do good hoping to be redeemed, is that really good?”

 

“Um, wow. Deep.” Emma thinks for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know. But I do know things aren’t always black and white, Regina. This world is all about the grey. And since when do you believe in fate or whatever, anyway?”

 

“Since my soulmate’s wife mysteriously appeared back from the dead, leaving me with no one once again. If that isn’t destiny, I don’t know what is.”

 

“It seems to me you’re pretty damn good at making your own destiny.”

 

Regina turns then, frowns at her. “My mother killed the love of my life, I was trapped in a loveless marriage, then I was stuck in a town where time didn’t move for almost thirty years.”

 

“You escaped your marriage. You transported yourself and an entire town to a new land you’d never been to before. You adopted the most wonderful son in the world.” Regina’s soft smile at the mention of Henry makes Emma’s heart kick in her chest. “Granted, I’m not saying you always used the _best_ approach for major lifestyle changes.”

 

Regina’s smile turns wry, and she shakes her head. “Not exactly.”

 

“But my point is that you did it. _You_. You don’t need some fairy dust telling you who your soulmate is, trapping you into that one possible relationship for the rest of your life. You’re Regina fucking Mills. You’re strong and you’re sexy and you take charge. You don’t need a man, but if you want one, I’m sure you will find one once you put your mind to it.”

 

Regina doesn’t answer for a moment, just picks up her cider again, swirls it around, and takes a sip.

 

“Something to think about, anyway. And while we’re discussing it, Emma. I...apologize for my behavior. I realize you did not know what you were doing. I lashed out at you because I was hurt, and you were the easiest target. When I’m in pain, I tend to go on the defensive.”

 

“You don’t say,” Emma mutters.

 

“I’m only going to apologize once, Emma. If you’d prefer to miss it in lieu of making petty comments, by all means, continue.”

 

“No way. I wouldn’t miss such a rare event for an entire box of bearclaws.” Sometimes Emma can’t seem to make her mouth shut off, but Regina just rolls her eyes and continues regardless.

 

“As I was saying, I tend toward an aggressive defense, and I also don’t have much experience in the realm of friendship. I’m afraid that made for a lethal combination in our case. I was crushed, but once I was able to think clearly, I came to some realizations. I know you were not intentionally sabotaging my happiness. I also know now that while I was sad about Robin, our relationship was intense but short. There had not been time for deep emotions to form. I was mostly upset over once again having my chance at true happiness ripped away from me.”

 

Emma curls her fingers against her thighs, surprised at how strong the urge is to move over, kneel in front of Regina, grab her hands and say _I can make you happy_. Maybe lean in for a kiss.

 

But that is not what Regina needs right now, and an idea is forming in Emma’s head as she thinks about what the brunette just revealed.

 

“I’m not saying I understand or even believe this destined soulmates stuff or whatever, but, Regina, what if the fairy dust was wrong? Or what if it changes? What if he was only your soulmate at that particular time in both your lives? He went on to find a wonderful woman, fall in love, and have a super adorable kid. And now that she’s back, they can have their happy ending.”

 

“I’m sorry, were you supposed to be disagreeing with me?”

 

“You said it yourself: It was too soon for any real damage to be done. Maybe destiny was really saving you from your misguided attempt at using it, going by a tattoo and a fairy dust spell from decades ago. You’re both different people now. Maybe it was saving you the trouble of becoming fully invested, only to realize and months or years down the line that you don’t actually work as a couple. It would hurt both of you so much more, plus Roland, and maybe even Henry. What if your now-soulmate is still here, and now you’re available for that happy ending?”

 

Regina’s voice is thick with barely suppressed tears. “Well, you are just full of revelations tonight, aren’t you?”

 

“Good to know you keep me around for something, right?”

 

Regina chuckles deep in her throat. “I suppose so.”

 

\--

 

Emma sighs, pacing back and forth before the glass doors, pushing a few buttons on her phone before holding it up to her ear. “Hey, Regina? It’s Emma. I’m just calling to let you know I’m going to have to push tonight back a little. I’m, um, at the hospital. One of the Merry Men was drunk off his ass – at only 5 o’clock, for crying out loud! Anyway, I had to tackle him because he was getting handsy, and it’s not really a big dea-”

 

Emma stops in her tracks as a cloud of purple smoke appears on the other side of the doors, clearing to reveal Regina herself in that grey wrap dress that’s one of Emma’s favorites. She has that look on her face, the one that would make a grown man cry like a small child if he happened to get in her way. She flings open the door, raking her eyes up and down the blonde in a way that _definitely_ should not make Emma’s skin break out in goosebumps.

 

“Emma. What’s wrong with your arm?” Of course she notices the way Emma is cradling her right side, holding it in the way that hurts the least.

 

“I’m fine! I just sprained my wrist. David had to go put the guy in holding, but he made me swear up and down I’d come have it checked out. He said he’d call Whale later to check. For a sprain. Overprotective, much?” She blows out a breath, glaring at the two other people sitting in chairs ahead of her.

 

“Oh. Well. Next time, why don’t you open with that, dear? I wasted perfectly good magic coming here.”

 

“I was getting to it, Regina! I didn’t ask you to poof yourself up here without even a second thought.”

 

“I was under the impression that’s what friends do for each other.”

 

Emma doesn’t even try to hold back her smile. “So we’re friends now, then? It’s official?”

 

“It would appear so. Sorry, I braided you a bracelet, but I left it at the house.”

 

Regina quirks the side of her mouth up in a half smile, lets her gaze trail over Emma’s body a second time. Goosebumps, _again_. And Emma’s breath hitches when she swears the brunette’s eyes linger on her chest for just a second too long. Emma glances down subtly, and nope, no ketchup stain like the last time that happened, but her top is riding a little lower than usual. It’s definitely because her arm hurts that she doesn’t do anything to adjust it.

 

“So you aren’t injured anywhere else?” Regina asks

 

“Nope.”

 

“Just one question then, Swan.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Why on earth are you waiting around here when you could heal yourself and be done with it?”

 

Emma frowns and tilts her head. “Huh. I guess I didn’t even think of that.”

 

“Why not? You’ve shown great promise, Emma. White magic is especially useful in the practice of healing.”

 

“I dunno. It didn’t even occur to me. I always imagined using it on other people.”

 

“Ugh, you’re _such_ a savior sometimes.” Regina rolls her eyes, and Emma’s pretty sure she will never stop doing that (she’s also pretty sure she’ll never _not_ enjoy it).

 

“Only you could make that sound like an insult.”

 

“You mended that sheet splendidly the other night. Same concept, I told you. It isn’t as if you have a compound fracture. A sprain is the perfect practice injury. How fortuitous that your clumsiness should manifest at such an opportune time.”

 

“Okay, fine,” Emma agrees. After all, this way if she messes up, at least she isn’t hurting someone else. “But we’re not poofing anywhere. You can drive the bug. And you have to deal with David when he finds out later.” She fishes her keys out of her pocket and places them in Regina’s palm, foreseeing the brunette’s insistence and really just wanting to get out of this sterile, depressing room as quickly as possible.

 

“Deal.”

 

When they pull up to 108 Mifflin, Emma’s stomach growls as if on cue. It is dinner time, after all, and once her wrist is (hopefully) all mended, she is so going to be all over whatever Regina has planned for dinner.

 

Going inside, Emma heads immediately to the place she has christened as “her” spot, on the right side of the oversized sofa in the living room. She plops down without ceremony, waiting for Regina to appear with two glasses of water from the kitchen, placing them on the coasters on the table in front of them.

 

“Ready to begin?” Regina asks, and she sits down on the sofa opposite Emma, angling her body so she can watch the blonde and step in and aid her if necessary.

 

“Yeah, I guess. So, I visualize my wrist whole again. Basically. And then I just...make it happen.”

 

“Essentially. Here, I have an idea. Give me your hand.” Regina scoots along the sofa, closer to Emma, until their knees are almost touching. Emma starts to extent her injured right hand, but Regina shakes her head. “No, the other one.”

 

Confused, Emma places her left hand in Regina’s upturned palm, her skin smooth, a direct contrast to Emma’s calluses. The older woman moves her other hand so that Emma’s hand is completely surrounded by hers. Regina. Regina is holding her hand. Regina is holding her hand, and it is so gentle but sure, as if she knows Emma trusts her completely.

 

Emma’s chest feels too tight, like there’s a new curse that has suddenly sucked away all the oxygen from the entirety of Storybrooke. Her right hand is injured, but it’s her left that feels like it’s on fire. Regina takes a single finger and draws it delicately along the back of Emma’s hand, up to her wrist, back down to her thumb, easily grasping and rotating until the palm is facing up. She traces, starting at the tip of Emma’s index finger, and when her nail scrapes softly across the sensitive skin of her palm, the blonde gasps. Regina doesn’t stop, continues moving until she has traveled the myriad webs and lines of Emma’s palm, each one shooting an individual signal through Emma’s body, one shutting off her brain, another releasing manic butterflies in her stomach, still another shooting a deep heat straight to her center. Regina then softly encircles her wrist with two fingers.

 

“Feel that?”

 

Emma is feeling about four trillion and sixty two things at this point, and she’s pretty sure none of them can be what Regina is referring to, unless the mayor secretly reciprocates her desire to see just how many positions this sofa can accommodate. She thinks maybe she emitted some sound like “rnnggh” but Regina seems to take it as questioning.

 

“That’s your hand, your whole hand. Healthy and thrumming, every nerve ending functioning correctly, each tendon attached where it should be.” Regina moves her other hand to capture the bottom of Emma’s wrist, so it’s completely covered. “Feel it. Do you feel it, Emma?”

 

Emma nods. It’s really all she can do at this point. She keeps her eyes glued on their hands as if her life depends on it. She’s a little on edge and pretty sure everything she’s feeling would be on bigscreen display should she make eye contact – we’re talking Super Bowl Sunday and millions of viewers and a hundred cameras ready to capture every minute detail.

 

“Good. I’m going to take my hands away, and I want you to take your right hand in your left.” Emma follows her instructions, her right feeling bereft the second Regina lets it go.  “Now, imagine how your healthy hand and wrist felt a moment ago. And transfer that into the injured one.”

 

Emma is pretty much still reveling in the feeling, so it’s not hard at all, barely takes a second thought. She feels the magic exit her fingertips and come right back in through her wrist. It’s warm and cool at the same time, kind of like that minty cream that relieves muscle aches, but it feels alive, too. She can feel her wrist returning to normal almost immediately, the pain draining away, the magic following, leaving only a pleasant residual warmth.

 

Emma blinks, because it’s only been maybe three seconds, and that’s it. Her wrist feels perfect, no more radiating pain from her fingers to her elbow. She flexes her fingers a few times, just to test it, looks to Regina in amazement.

 

“I did it. It wasn’t hard at all.”

 

“Let me see.” Regina holds her palm out again, and this time, Emma places her newly mended right hand into Regina’s. She senses Regina’s magic immediately, and it’s the same but different. She feels the magic travel through the ligaments and cartilage, but it doesn’t change anything before it fades away.

 

“Perfect job on your first try. Seems you’re not incompetent after all, Swan.” The older woman smiles at her but doesn’t drop her hand. It’s harder when they hold eye contact, those eyes are so dark and Emma could see so many things in there if she let them mean what she wants them to mean. But the blonde is still on emotional overload, so she pulls back after a few seconds, inclining her head and tucking her hair behind her ear.

 

“Now that I’m all better, does that mean it’s time for dinner?” She strives for a normal tone, and she must do a decent enough job.

 

“I believe that could be arranged. I had a fairly laborious recipe planned for the night, but since it’s so late, we can stick to something more basic.”

 

Regina rises and pads off to the kitchen, and Emma follows after taking a deep breath and a good swig of water. She resists the impulse to dump the rest of it over her head and follows the other woman to the kitchen.

 

Dinner is whipped up quickly with the two of them working together, stir-fried chicken and broccoli over rice noodles. They work in companionable silence, for which Emma is grateful, because she doesn’t feel much like conversation at the moment.

 

As they eat their dinner, Regina finally speaks. “You’ve had a long day. Do you just want to relax tonight instead of working on magic? Maybe watch a movie?”

 

Emma blinks. “Are you asking me to play hooky?”

 

Regina draws back. “Not at all. You more than surpassed my expectations in healing today. Think of it as an exam day. Painful but short, and you passed with flying colors.”

 

“Man, first exam and you didn’t even give me a study guide. I would’ve known you’d be _that_ kind of teacher.”

 

“Which is perhaps why I never went into the educational field. Well, that and while I love children, facing a classroom full of them day in and day out sounds like a nightmare.”

 

“Agreed. Speaking of our kid, though, why doesn’t he come over? We can all watch a movie together. He’s been dying to see the new Transformers.”

 

“Trust me, I know. He was begging me to let him watch it last weekend, but he hadn’t finished his science fair project. That sounds perfect for tonight, though.”

 

Regina calls Henry immediately, and he is predictably over the moon at the thought. Thirty minutes later, dinner is over, Henry is sprawled in the center of the couch, and Emma has the movie all queued up and ready to go.

 

Regina comes into the room balancing three bowls of popcorn, and she hands them out like a dealer at a blackjack table. Plain with a dash of sea salt for herself, Henry’s drenched in melted (organic, of course) butter, and Emma’s just the way she likes it, salty with a dash of cinnamon.

 

And that’s what does it.

 

It’s so simple. A bowl of popcorn, and suddenly Emma feels like she’s on the verge of a panic attack. She sits frozen in place long enough for Regina to press play, forces herself to wait for the first scene to start. She thrusts her bowl aside, mutters something about not pausing the movie on her account, and bolts to the bathroom where she grips the sink with both hands. The marble has tiny, intricate swirls and designs in it, but they all dance in front of her vision in a blur.

 

She’s in love with Regina.

 

Love. She’ll say any four-letter word you want besides that one, and fuck the inner voice that’s calling her a coward for it.

 

This isn’t supposed to happen. She’s supposed to help Regina find happiness. They’re supposed to be friends. She can deal with the occasional (okay, pretty much constant) desire to kiss Regina, to trail her fingers along those lips and taste her hip bones. Physical, she can ignore. It’s temporary, meaningless.

 

But love. Love is huge.

 

Sure, she loves Henry and Mary Margaret and David. It’s easy to love when you already have the guarantee of reciprocation. It’s another thing altogether to tug your heart out of your ribcage and heave it into the open air, hoping and praying that someone is standing there to catch it, to sew it up in their own chest and hand you theirs in return.

 

And Regina isn’t that person.

 

Emma has one hand on the door, the other on her phone, ready to walk out and make an excuse to cut and run for the night. It’s already on the tip of her tongue, off the cuff lying a handy skill from her bail bondsperson days. But a glance in the mirror stops her. She sees her eyes, wide, manic. She sees the small scuff on her jeans from her fall earlier. She feels Regina’s hands on her again, helping her.

 

Emma has run for so long, it’s a habit, engrained. But she’s stronger now. She’s only the savior because some fairy tale book told her to be, but she’s pretty damn strong in her own right. If she can fight a fucking dragon and a wicked witch and a snow queen and _win_ , maybe it’s time she starts confronting some of her own demons.

 

And somehow, that’s about a thousand times scarier than facing giants and ogres.

 

Emma takes deep breaths, thinking of her words from right before she escaped The Enchanted Forest and made it back to Storybrooke and Regina and Henry.

 

Love isn’t weakness. It’s strength.

 

Probably, Regina isn’t her true love. Probably, she won’t be interested in Emma romantically. But what she _is_? She is a friend, a woman well on her way to happiness, Henry’s other mother. She is someone who doesn’t have enough love in her life, and Emma won’t take this away from her. She can stay, be supportive, be a friend. It might hurt a little more sometimes, but it’s not any different from what she does with her parents and Henry, really, and Regina is sort of like extended family. If she just thinks about it like that, it makes perfect sense.

 

Emma splashes some cool water on her face, nearly ready to make her exit. Suddenly, a gentle knock startles her.

 

“Emma? You’ve been in there nearly half an hour. Are you ill?”

 

She opens the door, and Regina’s standing barefoot in the hall, looking so unfairly beautiful and concerned that Emma has to swallow before she can answer.

 

“I’m fine. I thought something was wrong there for a minute, but I’m okay now.”

 

Regina appears a little hesitant, unsure whether or not to believe her. “Okay. If you’re certain?” She says it like a question but moves out of the way so Emma can make her way out into the hall.

 

“I am.”

 

They walk back to their son, one sitting on each side of him as they relax together and enjoy the rest of the movie as a family.

 

\--

 

The next week is Thanksgiving, and Emma has to work. Mary Margaret decided early on that since Emma couldn’t come to Thanksgiving, they would bring Thanksgiving to her.

 

That’s how the sheriff’s office turns into an all-you-can-eat buffet. Her parents and baby Neal show up a little before noon, and Regina and Henry arrive only a few minutes behind them. Everyone is loaded down with food: turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, rolls, pumpkin pie, apple pie (because heaven forbid Regina pass up an opportunity to use her precious apples). They push the desks against the wall to form the food line and place the chairs in a semicircle around the room. Plates are filled and emptied and filled again, and Emma keeps sneaking glances at Regina, who hardly looks uncomfortable at all.

 

David breaks out a Pin the Tail on the Turkey game he found at the store and thought sounded like a grand time. He’s trying to talk Henry into putting on the blindfold when Emma’s phone starts to ring. Chuckling to herself, she steps out into the silence of the hallway to answer it, but it’s only Ruby calling to wish her a happy Thanksgiving. She returns the sentiment, and they chat for a moment before Ruby has to get back to the customers at Granny’s.

 

“No rest for the wicked, after all,” Ruby sighs dramatically into the phone, and Emma smiles.

 

“You would know.”

 

“Guilty. We still on for Girls’ Night next Saturday?”

 

“I still have to talk to Regina, but I think she’ll be up for it.”

 

“Awesome. Belle’s already in. _Leroy, I’ll be there in a minute- no, don’t pour it yourself!_ Sorry, Emma, I have to go.”

 

“Talk to you later.”

 

“Bye.”

 

She turns to walk back to the office, but stops when she finds Regina closing the door quietly behind her.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“Henry told me about Operation Mills last night.”

 

“What?” Emma wasn’t expecting that, and she immediately starts thinking of ways to defend her actions, sure the older woman is offended or something. But she’s not. In fact, Regina takes a step closer and genuinely smiles with everything she has, her lips and teeth and eyes all telling the same story.

 

“Emma, I’m not angry. I was starting to fall back into old habits, but you didn’t let me. You kept me from making my life all about work and Henry again. I appreciate that.”

 

 

Emma lets her head hang down, scuffs her foot awkwardly at the floor, thumbs hanging in her pockets as she shrugs a shoulder. “I just didn’t want you to be alone. You needed to know you had, you know. Me. And Henry.” She swallows, avoiding dark eyes. “And everyone, really, by the way are you free for a girls’ night next Saturday, because Ruby just called and reminded me and you’re totally invited.”

 

It’s an attack of Rambling Emma again, of course, and Regina half-smiles. “Yes, I believe so, but we can discuss that later. I wasn’t finished. I’ll admit, I did wonder at the beginning, when you started seeking out my company with all the tenacity of a lovesick puppy, but I simply blamed you and your savior complex. I hope it wasn’t all about me, though. You did seem to enjoy our interactions.” The _as much as I did_ is left unspoken but implied, and Emma has an irrational surge of hope.

 

“Are you kidding? I could practically open a gourmet restaurant at this point, and I’m getting so much better with magic. That’s because of you, Regina. Yes, technically, the meetings started as part the mission – and it’s not like I was unwilling, since it was my idea in the first place and all – but honestly? They pretty much turned into the highlight of my day.”

 

“I’m glad. And now, for the main thing I came out here to say: Thank you, Emma.” She steps forward, enfolding Emma in her arms, and the blonde freezes for a millisecond before her arms go around the brunette’s and settle in like their sole purpose in life is to keep the other woman as close as possible. She inhales the heady combination of Regina’s perfume and apple shampoo, and it’s like ambrosia, practically. Everything about this should scare her to death, but for once, her demons are taking a back seat because everything feels right, like a sunny day and a fresh breeze and jumping into a pile of fall leaves just to feel for a moment like you can fly.

 

Regina slowly pulls back but stays close, and Emma’s heart is ready to thump its way right out of her chest.

 

“You have my back. And I have yours. Right?” Somewhere in Emma’s brain, a memory chimes, and she recognizes the mirror of a conversation they had all those weeks ago.

 

“Always.”

 

Regina just keeps looking at her, but when her eyes move down to the blonde’s lips and stop there, the world around them stutters to a halt. Emma leans forward without the slightest bit of hesitation, as if she’s done this a thousand times in reality and not just in fantasy.

 

Regina’s lips are soft, and Emma only gets the briefest sensation of apples and cinnamon and lipstick before she pulls back, gauging Regina’s reaction. The older woman’s eyes are shut, her lips parted. Her fingers curl into Emma’s forearms, and that’s enough encouragement for Emma to dive back in with abandon.

 

This time she doesn’t hold back, and Regina doesn’t either. Emma feels Regina’s fingers tangling in her hair, pressing lips harder to her own. Emma reaches out to grasp the other woman’s hips, pulls her closer, then slides her hands just an inch underneath the silk fabric of her top. Regina gasps in response. Nonsensically Emma’s first thought is that maybe her fingers are too cold because Regina’s skin is almost scalding against hers, and she starts to move her hands away before the brunette’s hands move to hold hers in place. There’s teeth scraping not-so-gently at her bottom lip now, _christ_ , and she retaliates by shifting her leg between Regina’s and pressing against the heat she finds there.

 

Regina’s answering moan makes her want to beg the woman to use her magic and teleport them to the nearest bedroom, but it also startles her enough to realize that she is _at work_ only feet away from her family and their son and wow, this could be _so bad_. Reluctantly, Emma draws away from the embrace but keeps their hands intertwined and her forehead leaned against Regina’s.

 

“Well, that’s new,” Regina comments, her voice husky and her fingers tracing a tingling path up and down Emma’s arms.

 

“Not exactly,” Emma says sheepishly, grasping the other woman’s fingers and drawing her head back so she can see into Regina’s eyes. “I’ve had, well– felt, um. Dammit.” She lets out an impatient huff, trying to get the words straight, but her brain is still fuzzy and her demons are trying to grab at her tongue.

 

“It’s not entirely spontaneous on my part either, if that’s helpful.” Regina’s eyes shine with humor and lust and something deeper that scares Emma at the same time as it makes her want to lasso the moon.

 

“Oh. Good. That’s...very good.”

 

“Always so eloquent.” Regina softens the comment by leaning forward and dropping a quick peck on her lips.

 

“So...this is happening?”

 

“This is happening,” Regina confirms.

 

She’s about to say something more when a shout sounds from the next room, and both women rush toward the commotion, only to stop short as soon as they enter the room.

 

Despite his excitement about the game, apparently David is not the most coordinated after being blindfolded and spun around five times. He’s somehow managed to miss the giant plastic turkey entirely and instead wind up in the mashed potatoes. Henry is beaming victoriously (though his feather placement was rather haphazard, at least he made it onto the target) while he holds out a handful of napkins toward David, and Mary Margaret is doubled over in silent laughter, trying not to wake baby Neal.

 

And when Regina rolls her eyes at her like _your father, honestly_ , Emma just grins back.

 

\--

 

Two days later, Emma and Henry are sitting side-by-side in the Mills living room while Regina finishes up dinner in the kitchen.

 

“Take _that_! Ha!” Her character on screen executes a complicated kick, effectively thwarting Henry’s for the moment.

 

“Oh, yeah? What about this?” He retaliates with a vengeance, and Emma has to stop the trash talk so she can concentrate.

 

They play in silence for a minute before Henry speaks again.

 

“Hey, Ma?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I have a confession. I didn’t exactly tell you everything about our mission.”

 

 “Huh? Operation Mills? I thought we rocked that.”

 

“Yeah, we did. I was really more of a background player, though. You were the front agent for the bigger part, the part I didn’t tell you about.”

 

“What bigger part? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

 

“It was on a need-to-know basis.”

 

“And I couldn’t know? Even though I was the main part of this secret mission?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

On screen, the two characters continue to battle it out. “Kid, you’re going to have to be clear with me here.”

 

“Do you know who Hayley Mills is?”

 

“Um, not exactly getting clearer,” she frowns. “But yeah, obviously. I used to watch every episode of Saved by the Bell when I could.”

 

“Saved by the what?”

 

“It was a TV show when I was growing up.”

 

“Oh. Anyway, she was in this movie I was obsessed with when I was little. I would watch it over and over and pretend to be them.”

 

“Them? I thought we were talking about- Wait a sec.” It clicks into place, and Emma pauses the game. “The Parent Trap?”

 

He doesn’t say anything, simply smiles sheepishly and shoots her the puppy dog eyes.

 

Damn. She’s going to have to ask Regina how to build up resistance to that face. He’s way too good at it.

 

“You Parent-Trapped us?”

 

“It’s not like it changed anything! All the stuff we discussed was completely true. I did want to cheer up Mom and let her know we supported her. It just happened to be the perfect setup for the bigger mission. You two could spend all this time together, fall in love, and realize you were meant to be. I mean, the Evil Queen and her mortal enemy’s daughter, who also happen to share a pretty awesome son? Hello! That’s storybook stuff, right there. Why do you think I hardly ever crashed your nights together? I love Grandma and Grandpa, but do you really think I wanted to spend that much time with them? They make me change dirty diapers!”

 

Emma just chuckles and shakes her head slowly back and forth. “So, _that’s_ why you wouldn’t let me name it Operation Grinch.”

 

“Um, no, that’s because that was lame.”

 

She ignores him. “It had to be Operation Mills so you could have your double meaning. Sneaky.”

 

“I know it’s not exactly the same. I obviously don’t have a long-lost twin– wait, I don’t, do I? You didn’t give birth to twins? You can be honest with me, Ma.”

 

She huffs a quick laugh. “Nope, just you, kid. Trust me, thirteen hours was more than enough.”

 

“Darn. Still, though. I think our Operation Mills worked out pretty well.”

 

“I’d say so. You did good, kid. Just hope you can keep it up now!” She unpauses the game, hoping to take him by surprise, and he jumps onto the defensive immediately.

 

“Hey! You didn’t warn me.”

 

“It was on a _need to know basis_ ,” she intones, sticking her tongue out because she’s actually only twelve years old.

 

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he warns.

 

“Yeah? Well, how about _this_.”

 

“Nooo!” Henry’s character goes up in a fiery explosion, and the screen flashes, proclaiming Emma the winner.

 

Regina walks in as Henry wallows with his face in his hands, bemoaning his fate (“I _knew_ I shouldn’t have taught you!”), and Emma victoriously fistpumps the air.

 

“Yeah, baby! And that’s how it’s done.”

 

Regina laughs at the pair of them. “Come on, you two. Time for dinner.”

 

Henry detours to the kitchen to wash his hands without being asked, and Emma heads to the cabinets to grab plates. Dinner is Regina’s lasagna and breadsticks with apple turnovers for dessert, and to Emma, that’s basically a declaration of love right there on black and white china.

 

While they discussed their feelings at length on Thanksgiving night, they haven’t set the exact parameters of the relationship yet. Between the two of them, they probably have enough issues to fill a freight train, and neither of them wants to rush. Emma is happy with that. With Regina, she always knows. And she knows that this is more than a whim, more than a rebound. It’s real. It’s a smile, a touch of the hand. It’s a blanket around Emma’s shoulders when she’s up late binge-watching Netflix. It’s a back rub when Regina gets home after a stressful day at the office. The definition can wait.  So whether they call it _true_ _love_ or _partners_ or something else, it doesn’t matter. Because call it what you want, they instinctively and assuredly know what it really is. Together, with their son, they’re _home_.

 

They’re not much into labels anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all comments are welcome, and constructive criticism is appreciated. I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at SQ half as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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